


I don't have much...

by jellybeansarecool



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Diary of River Song (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Comfort, Darillium (Doctor Who), F/M, Hot Chocolate, Loss, Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeansarecool/pseuds/jellybeansarecool
Summary: But my hearts beat for him.
Relationships: The Doctor/River Song, Twelfth Doctor/River Song
Kudos: 28





	I don't have much...

**Author's Note:**

> Many people have written thought-provoking and heart-wrenching stories on this topic and many more will be written. Nevertheless, I wanted to try my hand at it. I hope I've made an honourable attempt at taking a quick glance at River having a hard day and the ghosts of her past feeding into that. 
> 
> The title (and what spurred me into writing this) comes from Mission House's song _I Don't Have Much_. While it doesn't really touch anything I've written about, the lines 'I don't have much, but my heart beats for you' resonated with me.

Some days flow with milk and honey. It feels like they’ve entered into the Promised Land of the ancient Israelite's. A paradise found in the arms of each other. They wake up, curled around each other. Love flows between them from the moments their eyes flutter open until they sink back into the arms of Morpheus. Stories and laughter are had over breakfast. Him indoors sneaks into one of her lectures just to watch her command the room and bring life into old relics that have long since been forgotten by many. 

They steal into the off-limits botanical garden and enjoy a secretive picnic lunch between them, surrounded only by exotic fauna. With impatient fondness, he good-naturedly grumbles over papers he’s adamant on helping her mark if only to scoop her up and take her home as fast as he can. They get distracted in one another’s arms and mouths, leaving the dinner to fall into ruin as they share the blessings of the covenant between them. Take out is ordered and they curl up before a crackling fire. They whisper love sonnets in a haze of adoration. From waking to sleeping, love, devotion, joy, and care swirl around them. Immersing them in magic. 

Other days though, it feels like she’s still in the wilderness. The sand of dissension bites into her skin and the harsh ground of isolation stabs at her soul. The nightmares that dance behind her eyelids turn to sleepless nights. Breakfast, once a joy, is snatched up in the bitter winds of fate. Embraced by sullen silences and burning glares. Contentious students and stubborn tech pull apart her lectures strand by strand until she’s naked and vulnerable. 

Lunch is pieced together with slices of apple and cheese left after a fruitless and vindictive staff meeting that makes the long hours of torturous syllabus sculpting seem almost inviting. But as the hours slip by and another day ends with the tolling of the clock, the silent rooms of her house begin to call to her. They are dark and empty. Exhaustion overcomes the pangs of hunger stabbing at her stomach, but terror chases away the desire to sleep. 

She drags herself up the stairs to the upper rooms and slips out onto the balcony that juts from the empty room that haunts her dreams. She wishes she smoked so that she might be comforted by the soothing of the unforgiving narcotic. The cold wind rises goosebumps along her arms. She doesn’t move, though, as her skin becomes numb. She leans against the railing and stares out into the dark night. 

She hears his footsteps, strong and true stop outside the lifeless room. She turns her back to him as he steps out onto the balcony and stands beside her. 

He whispers those words that she has been hiding from, “What’s wrong?” 

She doesn’t dignify his question with a response, but time drags on and suffocates her in its grasp. She ducks her head and looks out towards the horizon hidden in ink, “Nothing,” she manages to force out.

The quiet feels almost oppressive this time, and when he turns and leaves, she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that she once again has space to breathe or cut with feelings of abandonment. Anger boils at the edges of the marks left behind from a childhood full of neglect. She’s not given time to decide. He comes back carrying chairs, one in each hand. He doesn’t look at her as he swings them around and places them side by side, facing the perpetual night. He takes a seat and looks up at the sky.

“Are you going to sit there all night?” She askes him, frustration dancing around the edges of her voice.

“I might,” he replies, without a hint of laughter, his tone as even and controlled as his angular face, “The sky is particularly interesting.”

She laughs without mirth, “It’s clouded,” she states, “There’s nothing to look at.”

“But if I wait, maybe a star will peak through the clouds.”

She scoffs and turns away from him, leaning again on the bannister. Silence blankets them. Neither of them makes a move to speak or move closer to one another. They bide their time looking out into the lightless void. The cold continues to seep into her, not stopping at making her skin numb, it penetrates deep into her bones. Shivers start to take over her body. Her muscles moving involuntarily in an attempt to keep her temperature stable. She refuses to step inside, however, not wanting to admit defeat in a battle she alone is fighting. 

Time continues to pass. It moves like molasses, slow and thick. Her husband makes a soft sound, but she refuses to rise to the bait and remains unmoving apart from the shivers that shake her whole body at rhythmic intervals. The chair squeaks behind her, still she doesn’t turn. She hears him groan quietly as he pushes himself to his feet and then he pauses. She can hear him breathing behind her, not moving. Her whole being is attuned to him, aware of every tic and movement even though her eyes never deviate from their mark far out in the deep inky blackness. 

He lets out a breath that doesn’t quite count as a sigh and turns inside. She is left again on her own. This time he doesn’t return. After a while, she turns around. The chairs sit there, hard and wooden, made for functionality rather than comfort. She lowers herself slowly onto one of them. Not able to stand any longer, she buries her head in her hands as she curls into herself. Her eyes remain dry, the relief of tears refusing to come. 

Eternity eats away at her hearts. 

He comes back. She hadn’t heard him, soft as he was on his feet. The centuries of sneaking around paying off as he manages to drape a blanket over her hunched figure. He sits back down beside her. Looking up at the cloud-covered sky, he hands her a steaming mug. Too tired to refuse, she clasps her hands around the cup breathing in the sweet, creamy hot chocolate. Warm notes of cinnamon accompany the rich chocolate as she savours the first sip. The warmth travels down to her toes, bringing with it fond memories. 

It’s almost as if he knows that the tension inside her is unravelling with each sip. Keeping his eyes forward to give her space, he speaks, his words soft and gentle, “Tell me.”

She doesn’t respond with words. Her eyes flick back toward the empty room behind them. He notices, and his shoulders droop a little. “It’s not your fault.”

She shrugs, “It’s easy to say that when you’re awake. It’s been almost a year. I’ve gotten very good at rationalising what happened.” She looks down at her hands, “But when I sleep, I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the nightmares…”

_Kovarian is standing in front of her. Her one eye blazing with fury like it does when she’s failed._

_“You are the most useless child I’ve ever known. You are not fit to be called my daughter. Stupid girl.”_

_She braces for the beating or electrocution to come before she’s sent again to the nightmare room. Her hearts constrict, and her voice sounds like a child’s, “I’m sorry, Mother.”_

_Kovarian fades away and is replaced by Amy. Her fiery hair sways as she crosses her arms and eyes her, “You took my chance of being a mother away from me. Do you really think you deserve any less?”_

_“But-”_

_“You’re not_ my _Melody. I never want to see you again,” Amy spits before turning and walking away, leaving her alone with her pain._

_She walks into the TARDIS, the mother who is always there for her. But this time, when she enters, the room grows dark and cold. She walks up to the console and places her hands on it only to receive a shock. She draws them away, rubbing the tingling sensation out of them. The ship beeps angrily at her and swings the monitor towards her. On the screen is her husband, sad, angry, and disappointed. The TARDIS groans at her before dematerialising, leaving her without help, without hope, in a wasteland._

_She’s abandoned again and again._

Quiet, the man beside her listens. Never judging, never jumping in. She finishes, “I don’t have any good in me. This body was made to kill, not nurture. Why did I think it could be any different?”

He looks at her, love swimming in his eyes, “You care more deeply than most. It wasn’t because of a lack of care or love. It just was.” He draws her to his side, “Regardless of what happened, irrespective of what’s to come, you are more than enough. You, right here, right now.” He pauses, "And I will not leave you."

Silence falls over them again, but this time it is comfortable, companionable. 

After a time, she turns to look at him. He angles his head and looks down at her, a fond smile playing at his lips. She curls into him, his arm holding her tight to his side. 

In his safe embrace she whispers, barely audible, "My hearts beat for you."

He gives her an encouraging squeeze, “That is the greatest gift. I couldn’t ask for more.” He drops a kiss to her curls, "And mine beat for you."

Huddled close together in one another’s arms they look up at the sky. The clouds had parted revealing a band of stars that shine down on them. Their light bathes them and the room behind them, touching the small cot hidden in the back of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe and go well,  
> JBeans


End file.
